


wouldn't you love to love her?

by ephemerides



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F, i'm trash this is trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerides/pseuds/ephemerides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one told you about the part where the pretty girl got to move on while you were struggling to stay afloat, waves crashing against the stumps of your burnt wings.<br/>Fucking Icarus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wouldn't you love to love her?

**Author's Note:**

> Ahem, hello! This is...well i don't even know what this is. It just came out one night/early morning and i though 'heck, why not post it!'.  
> Basically what i'm trying to say is that i have absolutely no idea where I wanna go with this, so bear with me buddy!  
> I hope this was at least somewhat true to the characters, whenever I write stuff I always sorta picture how it would look on screen, and it's really weird for me to write emotions and those deep looks, so whenever you see dialogue just imagine the intense looks okay, they're there, I swear! (hehe, i made a rhyme)  
> ALSO, i should mention that Lorna doesn't actually make an appearance in this chapter, but her tiny magical self will undoubtedly appear in like the following chapter, don't worry!

The first thing anyone tells you  as you're being driven back is that you're lucky. So fucking fortunate to have returned from MAX.

"You know, they say no one ever comes back from Max."

"Yeah? Lucky me..."

You don't really pay attention because these new guards don't know what the fuck they're talking about, and the guy's goatee gives you the creeps anyway. The spanish girl driving the van (the first of the many changes you will come to discover) is quiet. In fact, this is the most quiet you have ever seen her, but you can't be bothered to ask her about it, not when there are so many people awaiting you. Not when there's Red's wrath, and Norma's quiet hovering and a tearful _'I love you, too'_   to deal with.

And anyway, it was decisively **not** luck, but your mother's fancy lawyer with the gelled hair and the stick up his ass that got you out of that hell hole. Lady luck was too busy scratching her ass to give a shit about some junkie fuck-up's fate .

Finally, the lack of actual evidence and the fact that Luschek couldn't properly rat you out without involving his sorry ass, too , get you transferred out of Max.

_(and maybe your mother's lawyer, too, but fuck that guy)_

* * *

 

The first person you bump into after you get out of the van is, surprisingly, _Burset_. Fresh out of the SHU and sporting an angry bouquet of bruises on her face, she reminds you just how fucked up this place is.

How innocent _(mostly)_ people are sent to live like animals without any real fucking evidence, how victims are punished for refusing to keep their mouths shut and take the abuse, how there are job fairs and holiday celebrations to cover the ugly, festering wounds that bleed violence and crimes, where they try to pretend that everything is fine and whatever future awaits you all outside of these walls is bright and happy and not a fucking repeat of what brought you here in the first place. Because you're not stupid, you know there will be no more Red once you get out, and getting your act together will only last until you'll see _her_ again, until you'll feel her between your fingers and she'll whisper sweet nothings to you like the loyal girlfriend she is.

You know you'll never see red lips and dark curls once you're out, and the memory of her will fade with time and alcohol, and you don't even try to fool yourself into thinking she'll remember you once she gets out. Because she's not the girl you're meant to wait for and she'll never ask you to anyway, so in the end it won't matter that you kissed every inch of her skin except her lips ( _never_ the lips, saving those for the  _'And now, you may kiss the bride.'_ ), and went to bed with her between your lips and on the tip of your fingers and the curl of your tongue. None of this will matter, because your future has already been laid out for you, and hers too, probably.

You'll be drowning in smoke and your shitty heart and your shitty lungs will check out on you because you've never really treated them right to begin with, and some maid will find you and your mother will shake her head because that is _just like Nicole_ , to let her self-destructing habits kill her. In the end, all you'll ever be is a number in some study about drugs and how bad they are, and how they'll fuck you up in the most delicious way. And frankly, you're okay with that. You're okay with not being remembered, with not having a name or a face, being and entry in an endless row of numbers, because the face that you had and the name you were given never really meant much to you. You have never been particularly good at anything, anyway, so the world hadn't missed out on much.

(except heroin, you were fucking _great_ at doing heroin, except the part where your heart almost gave up and your head felt heavy for months)

And fucking. You've always been good at fucking, at kissing and licking and touching until you got dizzy and the world stopped being an afterthought and you could forget your name and your body and your hands, and all that mattered was the way your breath hitched and your nails dug into soft flesh. Sometimes you wondered what was more _thrilling_ : fucking, or getting high?

(you were disappointed to find out that actually fucking **_whilst_**  being high wasn't as goddamn magical as you'd hoped, just more dizzying)

Because if Nicky Nichols was to excel at anything, it was taking something and turning it into an addiction. From drugs, to alcohol and cigarettes and fucking pretty girls with soft lips, and eating cookies until you threw up and the whole world could hop on a rocket and fuck off into space for all you cared.

That, and being angry. Oh, yes, being angry was definitely something you excelled at. Since the moment you were born you've been angry. Angry at your mother for not knowing how to love you, angry at Paloma for loving you then leaving when you needed her the most, angry at your messy hair and your chubby cheeks and the girls in your school with their straight hair and boney faces, angry at the straight girls who let you fuck them then ran off with their boyfriends, and the ones who simply ran off because that's what you do, you fuck carelessly and break everything you touch.

The point is, you could die and go to Heaven and be surrounded by drugs and naked chicks, and you'd still find a reason to be pissed off. Still find a reason to kick at walls and clench your teeth and your fists until your knuckles turn white and the whole world turns into static noise.

You don't look Sophia in the eye because you've never seen her be anything but fucking flawless, and seeing her broken and miserable just like the rest of the people in this place would drive you insane. Because she doesn't deserve to be here, not really, not like you or Red or, god bless her, Lorna all do. Sure, she did some illegal shit, but she did it all to find herself, to break out of a skin that was never meant for her and a body she never belonged to, and transform into the metaphorical butterfly she was always supposed to be or something.

You landed your ass in here because your were selfish and reckless and high as a kite.

You make small talk until you reach the inside of the building, and finally part ways with a ' _Hey, stay strong Burset, alright?_ ' and a promise to swing by and let her fix the mess on top your head. That's when this all starts to sink in. When _'later'_   becomes real and you're not just here temporarily, you're not about to be dragged back down the hill at any moment. You've got both feet inside and the walls smell like mould and desperation, and the hallway's more crowded than usual, but fuck if you care because you're home, _finally._

It's pathetic, you know, to consider this place a home. But the relationships you've built here are stronger than anything you've ever had in your life and, fleeting as it may be, you've had this annoying feeling of peace and security ever since Red welcomed you into her little mismatched family and called you her daughter.

 Maybe you're a sucker for sentimental shit, but you'll be damned if you're not gonna ride this feeling until you get out. God knows, it's the only thing keeping you sane in here. That feeling of being a part of a family.

( and sometimes disappointing them because at least they _care_ enough to be disappointed, at least when you apologise they'll smack you upside the head and tell you just how bad you've fucked but, but then they'll hold you and tell you they missed you and it will all feel like some cheesy Hallmark Christmas card except it won't make you want to throw up)

* * *

 

You've barely stepped foot in the building, and there she is, in all of her intimidating glory. Her gaze burns you straight to the ground, and just like that you feel so incredibly small. You manage to take a few steps towards her, and that's all it takes for you to melt in her arms. She smells like kitchen grease and menthol, and the frames of her glasses dig into your chest, but you don't mind any of it. You hang on for the longest time, until your tears don't threaten to spill anymore and you're sure your voice won't quiver if you try to speak.

It all brings you back to another time, to cold tiles and damp cloths and shivering and crying, and her voice carrying you through it all. She calls you _'Мой ребенок'_ and the strength of her arms around you lets you know how much she's missed you, and how big of an ass kicking you're bound to receive. When you finally let go she grabs your face with both hands and pins you into place. There are tears in her eyes, but her voice is all steely determination and ' _Don't fuck with me, kid'_ as she tells you to never pull this shit again.

You don't bother trying to justify yourself, to tell her you never touched those drugs, not like you would've once wanted to, anyway, that you didn't throw away two years of sobriety for a fix. She already knows, and it wouldn't make a difference anyway, because you're pretty sure you would've caved in eventually. Holding it in your hands and smelling it, _fuck_ , even looking at it, would have only been enough for so long. You've tried telling yourself that the little baggie that got you in trouble was just a memento, a token of the star crossed romance of your youth. You were never the smartest fucking pupil in your class, but even you figured out it was all bullshit. You're an addict, and if there's anything that could ever bring you comfort is falling back into your habits.

It takes a while for you to realise you haven't said _it_. Sure, you said it before, when you were being dragged away in handcuffs and she was clutching at your shirt. But now it's different, now you've sat in it for so long and you've had nothing but time to think about it, so you really ought to tell her.

_"I'm so sorry, ma."_

"I don't need you to be sorry. I need you to learn, and to know better."

"I do. And I will, _I promise_."

"You know I don't do promises, Nicky. I do acts. From now on you come to me with anything, and I mean _anything_. You get yourself into any kind of trouble, you come to me. You so much as hear the word _'drugs'_ , you come to me. _Understood_?"

"Jeez, I'm not a kid, Red."

**"Understood?"**

"Yeah. _Yes m'am_."

"Good. Now let's find the other girls, they've all missed you terribly."

" _Aww, for fuck's sake, ma!_   You realise that I'm not an actual child, and we're in prison right ? There's no need for a family reunion."

"You will come with me and say hello to the girls, and tonight we will have a nice family dinner and you will **not** complain."  this woman has eyes like hard marble and it's not the first time you remind yourself that you wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for her.

"Alright, I thought you knew me better by now than to expect me not to complain. Kind of my second nature."

She smacks you upside the head and calls you impertinent, but it all feels so... _easy_. Falling back into this banter feels like second skin to you, and it makes you wonder why you threw it away in the first place, why you were stupid enough to risk all of this. Walking with her arm wrapped tightly around your elbow makes you feel like the loser in college who had to give her mother a tour of the dorms while everyone else's parents had taken a hint and settled for a hug and a _'See 'ya at graduation, asshole!'_ , but it's the closest you've come to feeling like you _had_ a mother to embarrass you, so you hope she never lets go.

As you walk to Caputo's office to get your new bunk assignment Red fills you in on all that you've missed. She tells you about the old guards leaving , and the new ones being total morons, about the new bunk arrangements and how awful it is to deal with three people constantly breathing your air. She tells you about Chapman's fallen panty empire and Vause's backflip through the greenhouse wall and the nice vacation to medical she's been on for the past couple of weeks. You laugh and listen attentively, but you're dying to know about _her_. What _she_ had been up to in your absence.

"And they just took it down. The idiots took down a fucking prison fence!" her laugh bounces off the walls and you think that maybe she's missed this, too. Gossiping and laughing about the stupid shit that always goes down around here.

" _No fucking way!_ And you just, _what,_ stood there? No one made a run for it?"

"There was nowhere to run to but the lake. Of course, that didn't stop the meth heads from trying to swim across it. You should have seen them, Nicky ! Flapping their arms like wild geese."

"That's fucking amazing! Hey, what about Lorna? She okay ?". That makes her tense up, and a ball of dread forms in your stomach.

The thing is, you don't make it a habit to worry for many people in this place. Sure, you were worried about Red when she got attacked, but you were more than aware that she could take care of herself. You worried about Gina when she got burned, and you worried about Tricia. But man, if there's someone you worry about most, it's _Lorna_. Goddamn Lorna Morello, with her _West Side Story_ fantasies and her mental problems that she buries under dark eye-shadow and red lipstick and curled hair. Lorna, whose head doesn't always check in with her mouth, who learned everything she knew about economy from Monopoly and always asked you how come she could build a house and a hotel, but not a _farm_ or an _apartment ('You know, they really oughta give people more choices in this game. What if I wanna raise cows, huh? Where am I gonna keep 'em?')_. Lorna who's sweet and naive, but managed to stand up to Pornstache alone, in the middle of a fucking forest.

That girl will give you a heart attack one day, you're sure of it.

"She was _a mess_ after you left, that girl. Crying all the time, not bothering to put make-up, but.." she trails off.

"But what?"

"But she got better, eventually. She's...better now." You don't know whether that thing that settles right under your ribcage and makes it hard for you to breathe is joy or bitterness.

Cause if you were a better person, you'd be happy that she didn't spend all this time being miserable. That she didn't cry tears you didn't deserve.

But being good isn't what got you in prison in the first place, so a part of you hoped she would be heartbroken. Part of you wanted to imagine her crying and kissing her little cross necklace and praying you'd come back. But you're not a soldier who left to fight in the war, and she's not your sweetheart, you never exchanged love letters or promise rings, so it makes all the sense in the world that she moved on. Nothing really lasts in prison, anyway.

"Oh, good. That's...good."

"She truly missed you, Nicky. A lot. _But-.._ "

"Hey, can we not start that again, please?" this is a conversation you've had more times than you can count, and she always ends it with the same thing.

"But that girl is still straight." it's hard to pin down exactly what she's feeling right now. Because her voice says sympathy, but her eyes say pity, and maybe those two emotions are the same thing because they sure as fuck both sting like shit. 

So you swallow your heart until it stops beating, kiss Red on the cheek and walk into Caputo’s office. The rest will still be there to be dealt with later.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ummm, so I guess that was it?? For this chapter at least! I hope you liked it, and I really hope i managed to do right by the amazing character that is Nicky Nichols. Lemme know whatcha think, and keep on doing what ur doing because you are cute as heck!


End file.
